


If Our Eyes Saw Souls

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comatose Peter, Post Hale Fire, Pre-Slash, Reaper Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 23:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14507568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: "Weren't you listening? I said it's not your time. I'm not here for you," Stiles says, waving his hand. "I'm off-duty.""Off duty," Peter says slowly."Yeah. The twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year thing gets tiring after a few thousand years," Stiles says. "We unionized after the bubonic plague, because fuck, that was a nightmare.""Grim reapers unionized..." Peter says."Yep," Stiles says, smirking. "Am I breaking your brain, dude?"OrStiles is a reaper, and Peter's soul shouldn't be floating around the hospital.





	If Our Eyes Saw Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This has been kicking around my drafts folder for a while. I'm working on my steter reverse bang thing still and just needed to write a little something different for a bit.

Peter isn't sure how long he was in the coma before his mind woke up, and his body didn't. He remembers fear and agonizing pain, then it's like he's ripped from his body and suddenly he's staring down at his own unconscious self, burns covering his skin. He's not a ghost, because all the machines his body is hooked up to say he's still alive, but he isn't corporeal either. He can float around the hospital, through walls and into other rooms, but that seems to be the extent of it. He can't move past the hospital's front doors. For whatever reason, that's his limit. To a brain like Peter's, it's fascinating. But to a trapped werewolf, it's maddening.

Peter learns pretty quickly that no one can see or hear him. He's tried screaming in people's ears, waving his hands in front of their faces, and nothing. He can't knock over anything, he can't manipulate temperature. He can't do anything books tell you ghosts can do and it makes him full of rage.

Worse than that, Laura, Derek, and Cora are nowhere to be found. Best case scenario, they found Cora where he'd told her to hide after getting her out of the house, and they took her and fled. Worst case, they're dead. He's not connected to his wolf as a not-ghost, so he can't feel his pack bonds, can't tell if they're there. They don't call, they don't visit. Peter tries to stomp down the hurt at that, but all he has is time to think, and that doesn't stray far from his mind.

Peter's hovering near the ER admissions desk as he sometimes does, since the only interesting things that really happen tend to be in the ER, when two boys come stumbling in, one with his arm wrapped around the other. The second boy is struggling to breathe and clinging to the other boy, but that's not what as Peter's attention. The boy who's helping his asthmatic friend is shining brightly, an aura of bright silver around him. Peter's never seen anything like it, not as a live werewolf and not as whatever he is now.

The shining boy hollers for Melissa, one of the nurses Peter recognizes by name. She gasps and runs to them, and from what Peter gathers, the asthmatic boy is her son. Peter really doesn't care about that though, because as she's helping him get seated and taking his inhaler, the shining boy is looking straight at Peter. Not through him, but at him, making very deliberate eye contact. 

"You can see me," Peter says. 

No one looks around at the sound of his voice, but the shining boy nods slowly, not noticed by the others. He glances around before looking down at the nurse and her son.

"I'm going to get him some water," he says. 

Melissa nods and continues talking to her son. The shining boy subtly motions for Peter to follow him, and Peter does gladly. The boy, well, teenager really, leads him through a maze of halls to an empty room, the hospital bed made and ready for a patient. The boy closes the door behind them after making sure no one saw him enter, and turns to Peter.

"I can see you," the boy says. "You're not supposed to be here."

"What does that mean?" Peter says.

The boy raises his hand and reaches out, fingertips an inch away from Peter, and runs his hand down the outline of his arm. Normally, Peter can't feel the people walking around, even if they walk right through him, but he can feel the tingling warmth of this boy's hand even though it isn't even touching him.

"It means, your time isn't up," he says. "Your reaper probably made a mistake and didn't know how to undo it."

"My reaper..." Peter repeats. "Who are you? Is that what you are?"

"My name is Stiles," he says. "And yep, reaper here."

Fear pools in Peter's gut. "This isn't how I expected to be brought to the afterlife," Peter says. 

"Weren't you listening? I said it's not your time. I'm not here for you," Stiles says, waving his hand. "I'm off-duty."

"Off duty," Peter says slowly.

"Yeah. The twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year thing gets tiring after a few thousand years," Stiles says. "We unionized after the bubonic plague, because fuck, that was a nightmare."

"Grim reapers unionized..." Peter says.

"Yep," Stiles says, smirking. "Am I breaking your brain, dude?"

"Don't call me dude," Peter says. "What kind of immortal being uses the word 'dude'?"

"That's all you're taking from this?" Stiles asks. "No fountain of questions? This seems right up your alley, Peter."

Peter's eyes widen. "You know me?" he asks.

"Peter Alexander Hale. Lawyer, werewolf, academic. Bit of an asshole. Soul's a little crispy, but not burned beyond recognition," Stiles says. Peter jerks at the words, making Stiles tilt his head curiously. His eyes go a little blank, and Peter has the uncomfortable feeling that he's looking right through him. "Oh, you were in a fire," Stiles says, wincing. "Okay, poor choice of words on my part."

"How do you know all that?" Peter asks.

"It's what I do," Stiles says, shrugging. "I can see into the souls of people. Some people are meant to die, and others Fate is more lenient on. On those, I can make a judgement call. If their soul is worth it, they get to live."

"And is my soul worth it?" Peter asks.

"It doesn't matter either way," Stiles says. "Fate isn't ready for you to die yet."

Peter...doesn't know what to say to that. He's always felt like he should be doing more, that being the lawyer for his sister's pack isn't enough for his life, for his ambition. But hearing that Fate wants him alive? That's something that even his narcissistic little heart hadn't imagined. 

"Okay," Peter says slowly. 

"It's a good thing you're already ghosty, I'd hate to have shocked you into an early heart attack," Stiles says.

"Can you fix it?" Peter asks. "Or am I stuck like this."

"Oh I can pop you back in, easy," Stiles says. "Are you sure you want me to?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Peter asks.

"Your body is in a lot of pain, dude. I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to deal with that," Stiles says. "On the flip side, you'll heal faster if your soul is in your body where it belongs. And you won't be bored all day watching hospital rotations and whatever soap operas are on TV."

"Put me back," Peter says immediately. "This isn't life. I need to be back, I need to make sure Cora, Derek, and Laura are okay."

Stiles shrugs. "Your call. Not until tonight, though. It can take a bit to do, and I don't want someone walking in in the middle of having to deal with that," Stiles says. 

Peter nods. It makes sense to him, but still...From what Peter's gathered, he's been stuck floating around the hospital for almost two years, and in a coma for another three before that. Stiles is the only person he's been able to converse with in all that time. It's not much fun talking to yourself after two years.

"Are you leaving, then?" Peter asks.

Stiles eyes soften. "I need to check on Scott," he says. "I'll be back, though."

Peter nods, trying not to show how desperate he is for Stiles to be telling the truth. It's maddening, not having his wolf senses to be able to tell him if someone is lying. He wonders if he did, if Stiles would even have a heartbeat to listen to.

"I'll be back," Stiles says again. "I'll find you."

"Okay," Peter says.

It's tempting to follow as he watches Stiles go, but he's not quite that desperate yet. He longs for his werewolf hearing so he would be able to track him. Instead, Peter spends the next few hours drifting from room to room. Sometimes he enjoys the family drama that he stumbles into, and sometimes it's just draining. Today, he wants nothing to do with it. 

Usually Peter avoids his own room, not wanting to look at the wreck of his body, but that's where he ends up today. He watches his disaster of a nurse roughly manhandle his body, enough to leave dark bruises that he can't heal. He can't wait to feel his claws around her throat.

It's only a couple of hours before Stiles is walking through his room door. Peter straightens where he's sitting (hovering) in a chair next to his bed. Stiles smiles and sits in the chair next to him, relaxing back like he has nowhere else to be.

"What is it that grim reapers do on vacation?" Peter asks. He's never been one for inane small talk.

"Just reaper, not grim. That's something you living folks added. And, well this," Stiles says with a shrug. "Living in Beacon Hills this time. Last time 1920s New York and man, I needed something slower this time around."

"So that's it? Just live out a life?" Peter asks.

"Yep," Stiles says. "Found a couple that wanted kids, and bam, became their kid."

That's more powerful magic than Peter has ever heard of, and at one time it would make him hungry for it. Now, he just wants to know more. If this is the last conversation he has before he resumes his coma, he wants it to be good.

He asks Stiles how souls feel ("It depends. Some are warm, like sun. Some are brittle and fragile. Some are cold stone."). He asks if he's ever taken a famous soul ("Not anyone you'd know, though my best friend got Hitler's. She was pretty damn proud of that."). He asks about where Stiles lives, if it's this plane of existence or something completely different. He asks about the afterlife. Stiles just winks at those. Peter craves more. Not just more knowledge, but more of Stiles, more of his humor and his wit. The way he acts like the teenager he looks like one second, and the next is an unfathomably old soul.

They talk until the night shift starts and with a wave of his hand, Stiles makes himself invisible as the nurse checks Peter over. He doesn't mind this one, she's always gentle with him. He's glad Stiles isn't seeing him abused. When the nurse is gone, Stiles looks at him with serious eyes, much more focused than when they were chatting.

"It's time. Let's get you back where you belong," Stiles says.

Peter follows Stiles to the bed, looking down at his burned body.

"What do I need to do?" Peter asks.

"Stand still," Stiles says. "And don't fight me."

Peter's never been in a whirlpool before, but he imagines that's what this must feel like. He's being pulled below his navel, yanked forward and spun until he doesn't know which way is up. It's instinct to want to fight it, to struggle against the power he can't see, but then there's that warmth like when Stiles had touched him, and Peter fights the urge to rage against him. He gets one last glimpse of Stiles, still shining silver, eyes pure white, before there's nothing.

When Peter wakes inside his body, he has no idea how much time has gone by. All he knows is pain as his body tries to heal. He's back with his wolf, drowning in its rage and pain, but it feels wrong. He remembers Stiles, there's no way he could forget, but he isn't at the forefront of his mind. All he can think of is revenge, the desire to rip Kate Argent limb from limb. To tear into Laura.

His wolf can feel the pack bonds now, can feel the tenuous thread connecting him to the Hale alpha, to Laura. They're weak and brittle, and Peter knows why. She and Derek left him here to rot. They didn't send any protection from hunters, they didn't bring him with them. They left him to be murdered in his bed, and Peter wants to tear their throats out. 

Cora...is different. He doesn't know where she is, but he can feel she isn't with her siblings (he doesn't know if Laura and Derek can't feel her too, or if they don't care). That thought gives him some solace, that the young child made it out. He doesn't blame her for leaving like he does them. She was nine at the time of the fire, he can't blame an elementary school student for being afraid and running for her life. He can blame Laura, the 'alpha', old enough to know better, and Derek for being too weak to oppose her.

Peter marinates in his rage and sorrow, willing his body to heal faster, to get the hell out of here before some hunter decides to come and finish off the last of the Hales in Beacon Hills. It's months before he sees slow progress, the pain lessening, the skin knitting together more quickly than before. He can feel the pull of the full moon, giving him strength. But it gives the wolf more control.

Peter still can't move on his own, but the wolf can when the full moon is high in the sky. It takes over, shifting and pulling Peter out of the window and into the preserve. Peter only remembers flashes, like the dirt under his feet and the bite of the cold wind. He doesn't remember what the wolf does, only that he was helpless. It makes his insides cold with fear.

It happens again the next month, and the month after that. On the fourth, he kills Laura in the preserve, the alpha power flowing into him. Peter has time to stare at his claws with a mixture of fascination and horror before the power and his wolf are too much, and he succumbs back to the beast. 

The alpha power is enough to speed the healing process considerably, but Peter still can't move outside of the full moon. All he can do is scream inside his head, arguing with the side of himself that's more beast than man. He didn't mean to kill her. But she deserved it. He's always wanted to be an alpha. But not like this. Hunters are going to come for him now. Not if he's careful.

Peter can feel his grip on sanity slipping every day, driving him closer and closer to a mindless, feral beast, the kind that hunters put a bullet in easily. He doesn't know what broke him, but he knows something inside him is wrong, even more than before the fire. He's always been capable of cruelty, but viciousness for its own sake was never his goal. He's always had plans, precise and intricate. This is reckless and he's going to die. And there's nothing he can do to stop it.

A few days before the next full moon, which Peter is dreading with all he has, the silhouette of Stiles slips into his room, no long shining now that Peter isn't on a spiritual plane. It's past midnight, the night nurse having just finished her rounds. The wolf snarls at the intruder, even though Peter recognizes Stiles. It doesn't seem interested in allies or friends, just in territory and anger. Stiles steps forward, frowning. Peter's frozen, can't even move his eyes to trace Stiles' steps.

"Madness isn't a good look on you," Stiles murmurs as he reaches the side of the bed.

Peter's wolf is salivating with the need to rip Stiles, this threat apart, and the only thing holding it back is the fact that the full moon has passed, along with the temporary boost in strength it gave him. Peter's glad. He's never felt so out of sync with his wolf, and know he wouldn't have the strength to hold him back. He doesn't want Stiles dead (even if the wolf could kill him, which he doubts). Stiles helped him, but the wolf doesn't know that. The wolf knew fire and pain only, not the touch of Stiles gently manipulating Peter's soul back into his body.

Stiles places a soft hand on Peter's arm, over the thick scarring. The same warmth he'd felt last time travels through him, coursing through his veins and filling him up. For a moment it's hard to breathe and all he can see is the familiar silver shining around Stiles, then his mind is quiet. The wolf isn't howling anymore, but curled up where it's always been, merged back with Peter. Two halves of a whole, not separate, warring beings. 

Peter tries to move, tries to thank Stiles, but all he can manage is a feeble twitch of his hand. Stiles, silver aura gone, notices though, and wraps his fingers around Peter's, smiling sadly.

"You and your wolf got separated," Stiles says, frowning. "The baby reaper that fucked up the first time did that too. I can't heal you, but I can fix that, since it's technically related to the soul and that's my area of expertise."

Stiles doesn't say anything for a long time, just holds Peter's hand, sending pulses of warmth through him. There's so much Peter wants to say, wants to ask, but no matter how hard he fights, his lips won't move.

"You have more to do here than insanity and vengeance, pup," Stiles murmurs. No one has called Peter 'pup' since his grandmother died years before the fire. "And healing isn't going to be easy, or fun." When Stiles makes eye contact with Peter again, there's a slight smile on his face. "Come find me when you can."

Stiles squeezes his hand one last time before he goes, as much as Peter wants to howl for him to stay. He leaves Peter with more determination to heal than before. He has more to look forward to now than just murder.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


End file.
